


When I ruled the world

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Self-Hatred, Sick Fic, death thoughts, sick crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:36:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters are dealing with sick and traumatized demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chibicheeberson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibicheeberson/gifts).



> So, this should be a "sequel" to Sympathy for the Devil. As i spent this day sick in the bed, it's sick Crowley. A plotless Crowley torture in my hands. Enjoy it. And enjoy your unblocked nose. And your throat which doesnt feel like a sandpaper. And violent coughing . And occasional fever.  
> ....I am going to sleep now.

"Eat your bloody soup and go to bed."  
“Make me.” Former king of Hell glared at Dean with bloodshot eyes.  
Dean sighed, frustrated. It’s been a week and half since Crowley woke up. He was quiet most the time, spending time alone in the library, not doing any problems. Till yesterday. Still weak after Abbadon’s torture and the infection from the wounds, he caught a bad cold. Feeling miserable as he was, he become insufferable. He was refusing to eat, drink, or even go to bed, just sitting in the library, coughing and sneezing and refusing help. Dean and Sam were loosing patience. They needed him in full strenght soon, so they could continue it their hunt for the First Blade.  
“Damn it, Crowley, stop acting like a kid and eat your meal,” said Sam, holding a bowl with a soup.  
“I am a demon, I don’t have to eat.”  
Sam made a bitchface and crossed his arms. “Walk to the door,then,” he snapped, ” without falling or holding onto the wall. If you make it, we will stop the mothering and let you drink your expensive scotch.”  
Crowley stared at him for a moment, face blank, as if he was thinking about the distance between him and the door, where the Winchesters were standing, leaned against the doorframe.  
“All right then, Moose,” he said after a while, pushing away a blanket he was covered with. Slowly, he rose to his feet and the Winchester brothers exchanged a meaningful look. Crowley was panting, his face was white and there were circles under his eyes. He was sick as a dog. There was no way in Hell he could make it to the door. He was going to fall or faint there on the spot. I  
t was the second one, as they soon found out when Crowley’s eyes rolled into his head and he fell to the ground after three steps. “Don’t you think he’s doing it on a purpose?” asked Sam, when he kneeled next to the demon, rolling him carefully on his back.  
“Yeah. I think he does,” Dean replied quietly, remembering the lost look Crowley had on his face when he though that no one could see him. Dean knew that look. He’s seen it every time he looked to the mirror.  
“Let’s move him to bed,” he said aloud, wrapping his hands under Crowley’s shoulders. He felt the heat which was starting to radiate from the smaller man. He was mentally preparing himself for another dreamless night full of demon’s cries for Bobby.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still sick. Even worse than yesterday. Goddamint, I am not supposed to be that sick, I´ havent been that sick in years! I am not far from Crowley in that one...  
> If you have any ideas for new fics with Crowley, feel free to message me on tumbrl http://simonagrayuniverse.tumblr.com.

"I am a pathetic excuse for a demon, Squirell," echoed Crowley´s voice from the darkness.  
Dean straightened himself in the armchair he was currently sitting in, startled by the hoarse voice. He was already dozing off and didn´t know the demon was awake.  
"I though you were sleeping," Dean shot, ignoring Crowley´s self-pitying thoughts.  
"I should not feel the need to sleep." Crowley tossed uncomfortably in the bed and coughed weakly.  
Dean yawned. It was a long day full of shitty news, Crowley had a fever and they had no traces of the First Blade. So he really wasn´t in a mood to deal with a messed up demon.  
"Maybe you´d like to stop weeping and go back to sleep, " Dean shot a glance in a direction where he could see a silhouette of smaller man in the bed.  
Crowley fell silent.  
Listening to demon´s ragged breathing, Dean got lost in his thoughts. He started to feel bad for the demon- Crowley was a mess. Dean was supposed to have patience with him, not telling him to go back to sleep. After all, he wasn´t the same after Abbadon´s torture. After that whole think with a demon blood. He was more human now.  
Full of emotions.  
Self-hatred.  
Maybe that was the reason why he became so close with Dean - they were nothing more than a walking balls full of self-accusing and self-doubt.  
Suddenly, Crowley snapped himself into a sitting position, caughing violently. Dean reached for a lamp on a table next to Crowley´s bed and turned it on.  
Crowley was trembling, face turning bright red as he couldn´t catch his breath. Dean ran to him, putting hand on his back to steady him. Demon´s eyes were watery.  
"Can´t...I can´t..." Crowley was panting, making a wheezing sound, desperate to breathe.  
"Shhh, it´s okay. Calm down." One wouldn´t believe how good you can become at comforting a demon after doing it for two week straight. "Take a deep breath. Slowly."  
Crowley obeyed him and focused on the breathing, his body going limp in Dean´s hands.  
"I was a King of bloody Hell. I ruled the world..." Crowley whispered hoarsely, "look at me now...."  
Dean said nothing. He didn't know what to say. Crowley coughed few more times. His head rolled on Dean's shoulder. "You okay now...?" Dean asked after a while, hoping for a positive responce.  
Crowley groaned, shutting his eyes tightly. He shook his head.  
"´m gonna vomit."  
"Off to the bathroom, then," Dean sighted, rising to his feat. He glanced at a watch on the nightstand. 3 am. Awesome.  
He helped Crowley to get up, trying to ignore how much thinner he was these days. He actually looked small and Sam´s T-shirt was hanging on him.  
Dean practically carried him to the bathroom, where Crowley sinked to all four, gripping toilet bowl. Dean was trying not to hear unpleasant noises the demon was making while retching to the bowl.  
If someone would say him that he will be worrying about a demon throwing up in his bathroom a year ago, he would probably laugh in their faces.  
Now, he felt sorry for the demon.  
"You done?" he asked when the noisies where finally over and Crowley just sat on the floor, exhausted to the point when he coudn´t even hold his head up.  
He just nodded and waited for Dean to help him up and back to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

It hurt to breath and it hurt to cough even more. He was either too hot or too cold. At some point it was a suffering even worse than the torture he endured in Hell- because there he knew that one day it will stop, the little what remained from his pathetic human soul will be turned into nothing but a smoke, a wicked essence of a demon and Alastair will let him from the rack.  
Now, he had his soul back. It was weighing him down, all that unnecessary human emotions he should not be feeling as a demon, demons weren´t supposed to have a soul! Demons aren´t supposed to regret things they´ve done, especially not the bloody king of Hell.   
But he wasn´t the King anymore. Thanks to the bloody Winchesters who locked him up while his kingdom was falling to pieces...because of some redheaded whore who doesn´t know where her place is.  
And where did he end....? Laying in a bed, too exhausted to even sit up, throwing up on a regular basis, left completely at Winchesters´ mercy...  
Sometimes, staring to the ceiling, he thought they should´ve just kill him. It would be better, for him, for them. His suffering would be over and they wouldn´t have to bother with him anymore.   
He tried to request that to Squirell once, when he was once again choking on his own vomit, burning up with the fever, done with the world.  
Dean just told him to stop being stupid, that he will get better, he has to, because he must help them to find the First Blade , kill Abbadon and become the King of the bloody Hell again.  
Crowley was too tired to tell him that he doesn´t want to, that even if he had his powers back and the would manage to kill Abbadon, he couldn´t reign in Hell, because he was a pathetic weakling now. And a demon with pieces of a soul can not run Hell.  
He wondered what would happen to him if he´d die. Purgatory wasn´t an option, as he had a soul now. Would he end in Hell again? On the rack, with Alaistar´s laugh echoing his skull as would be attempting to twist his shiny, new soul into the black smoke?  
He didn´t know. And , to be honest, he didn´t even care.

He heard a footsteps outside of his room; Squirell was coming back, with all his mothering and a cup of miserable tea. Squirell didn´t know how to make a proper tea; Moose was better.  
Door opened and mentioned hunter stepped inside, as Crowley expected, with a cup of tea in his hand.  
"How´re you feeling?" he asked as if it wasn´t obvious from Crowley´s tired face.  
"Just peachy," Crowley replied with a smooth grin and drank the tea Dean handed him.


End file.
